


We're Your Family Now

by Notsohappycamper



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst from Rocket because it's Rocket, Baby Groot, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Humor, Learning to trust, M/M, Mama Gams, Platonic Love, Plenty of Cuddles, Team Bonding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-10-30 14:39:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10878888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Notsohappycamper/pseuds/Notsohappycamper
Summary: How Rocket deals with raising his best friend back from a stick.





	1. What Makes a Groot a Groot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was perfect in every way, but there simply were not enough adorable Rocket/Groot moments to satisfy me, so I must write my own. This fic takes place sometime in between the first and second movie.

The planet they park on isn't all that different from any other generic planet out there in the universe, if the neon blue trees that wave like they're made of paper and the local inhabitants which frighteningly resemble the messed-up love-children of both bipedal dogs and slugs can be called generic.

Well, it certainly isn't the weirdest shit Rocket's ever seen in his life, that's for sure. The wound in his side might also happen to be a slight distraction from admiring the foreign sights, though.

'Forgive me for the rudeness,' he mentally begs the locals, focusing instead on the exact depth he can inhale before the stretch of his ribs brings agony from his recent injury.

"Look," Peter addresses them outside the warehouse they're in front of, one hand on his hip and the other fisting the hair from the severed head of a gang lord they'd killed. The head dangles by his side, dripping dull yellow blood onto the ground by his boot. "If we don't mention the other guy at all, I'm _pretty_  sure they're not gonna bring him up."

A shared groan from Gamora and Rocket is his first response.

"The bounty included the heads of the _two_  men in charge, Peter," Gamora stresses. "Pretty sure they're going to notice immediately that we only have one of those."

"Is there something we could use as a fake head perhaps?" Drax mutters to himself. "Something round and head-like to trick them... We could kill a man right now and use his head as a fake!"

"We are not killing a random man and using his head as a replacement head!" Peter exclaims. "If it comes it to, I'll just explain it was destroyed in the fight by accident."

"I am Groot."

"Not now," Rocket grunts to the plant by his side, shifting painfully on his feet.

"I do not see what the problem is," Drax deadpans. "Killing an innocent man is obviously the correct course of action to solve this entire predicament."

"If you genuinely believe that, then you have some major issues, man." Peter shakes his head. "Like _major_ issues. You really need to get that checked out."

" _I_  have issues?!" Drax roars into laughter, and, once again, Gamora and Rocket sigh in unison. The raccoon tilts his head back and breathes out towards the rest of the universe above them, closing his eyes against the pain it brings. "That is funny! Because you have issues as well! You have more of those than all of us, hahahaha!"

"Yeah, that's just hilarious, I'm so happy to see you're pleased by that," Peter mutters, pivoting on his heel. The deceased gang lord's face bumps against his thigh, leaving a yellow smear. "Let's get this over with. Rocket, stay here and keep an eye on Groot."

"Uh, what?" Rocket lazily rolls his head to look up at the human. "I'm comin' with you. So is Groot."

"No. You're not." The bags under his eyes coupled with his hard gaze tell Rocket this is not a matter up for discussion. "Groot almost got you killed back there. He's the reason I only have one head in my hand instead of two. I know you guys are close and everything, but you seem to keep forgetting that he's only a child. He stepped out of his pot for the first time not even a week ago! If he's not specifically needed for the job, honestly, he should just stay in the ship and out of the way."

"Peter," Gamora hisses, like her hushed voice can somehow undo the harsh truth of what had already been said.

"Groot's one of us, you asshat," Rocket glares, stepping forward. "He goes where we go. Plus, I'm the best negotiator among us, I have to come with you on this one."

"We'll manage," is all Peter tells him, then turns to push open the warehouse doors.

Drax follows without a glance back, but Gamora stays, hovering by the two and glancing from Rocket's sharp eyes to the ground in front of him about three times in row before she finally turns, her red hair falling over her shoulder. Rocket watches her shut the doors firmly behind her.

"I am Groot," the little tree squeaks from beside him.

Rocket scoffs. Shrugs and turns from the closed doors to keep himself from doing the stupid thing and blasting a hole through them in anger.

"He did _not_  have a damn point," he argues back, limping away from the warehouse, favoring his wounded side. Groot hurries to climb to his feet and catch up to him. "How does he get to decide shit like that all on his own anyway? He's not the fuckin' boss a me."

"I am Groot!"

"Yeah, yeah, language... Whatever."

Right about now, after being shot clean through the side, being exhausted from sleepless nights and pissed off at both everything and nothing in particular, Rocket's perfectly content to stomp off to the nearest dog-slug, demand to know where the closest bar is, and spend whatever money he has to his name getting as wasted as physically possible before the others turn in the bounty and find him, but there's a gentle tug on his arm that stops him dead in his tracks, before he can even take a single step towards accomplishing that goal.

A collection of thin roots wrap around his wrist and tighten, pressing into his fur. His eyes trail along its until they get to its source, a growth out of the palm of Groot's tiny hand.

"I am Groot," the baby plant murmurs in his soft high-pitched voice. Glistening brown eyes stare into Rocket's, and the raccoon almost feels something inside him snap.

He grits his teeth and fights hard against that something, that same something he feels whenever he lets his emotions do all the talking for him instead of his brain, that same something that makes him yell at the people he loves and coldly ignore the people who don't deserve it. He isn't good at fighting that something. Never has been. Maybe never would be.

It's that something now that almost makes him rip his arm away from Groot, possibly tearing his delicate, young roots in the process, but, this time, he rises above that something, because if he did that to Groot, he'd never be able to look at himself in a mirror again.

He's just... emotional right now. Being emotional is hard. Shit never seems to go right when he's emotional.

He gets what Peter is saying, but he doesn't want to _get_ it. At least, he wants to pretend that he doesn't. He and Groot have always done jobs together, since as far back as he can remember. To leave him behind was out of the question. Before Groot, he was completely alone, and before he was completely alone, he was...

He rubs at his bandaged side with the hand that isn't tethered by the roots of his best friend and closes the distance between them, until Groot has to crane his head back to look up into his face.

"'Sup, big guy?" he asks, even though the sentient tree is anything but. The old nickname brings a smile to Groot's face, though, so it's worth it.

The root leaves his arm and curls back into its owner's hand, but that hand then reaches out, making desperate grabby motions, so Rocket bends down and scoops Groot up into his arms.

"Needy little bastard, aren't ya?" he grumbles, but there isn't any bite to the words. They both know he doesn't mean it like that. He never means it like that.

It's weird, Rocket thinks as he settles Groot's weight onto his uninjured hip and bounces him a little. It's weird how his best friend who used to tower over him, calm him with his deep, rich voice, and carry him around on his shoulders is now held in his arms and barely weighs more than a bundle of twigs. It's incredibly weird, because it has never _been_  like this. It was always Groot who carried him, Groot who was the lumbering idiot that ruined all their sneaking operations and didn't know not to gulp down water out of public fountains like an animal.

Rocket knows he'll grow back to his full towering height in the blink of an eye, probably so fast that they'll all miss having this little guy around, but, for now, it's new. It's different to have him this small and this close, tiny hands clutching at Rocket's fur and that little mossy crown of bark on his head nuzzling up under Rocket's neck. But this is him. He is alive, and he is here, and, sometimes, Rocket just needs to remind himself of that.

"Do you remember..." Rocket rambles, lost in these strange existential thoughts of what exactly makes a Groot a Groot. "D'you remember that time, god, it was a long time ago. We had to rescue that politician's daughter or whatever from that dude with like... eleven mutant attack dogs... Those fuckin' things. You were so worried I was gonna be eaten alive, you didn't let go of me the entire time. Had to do the whole damn operation from up on your back. You bent over like an idiot so I could unlock the cell door from your shoulder and everything. Ya moron."

He feels the gentle rise and fall of Groot's chest against his side and relishes it. The tiny crown of bark slumps against his collar.

"Idiot," he murmurs, somehow both irritated and full to bursting with love, walking them in slow circles on the sidewalk. A group of shady looking dog-slugs stalk by and stare as they pass. Rocket just keeps pacing. "This what you felt like back then? Like I was so small I could get pasted by a stray boot? 'Cause it don't feel so good, pal. I dunno how you put up with it for so long..."

The warehouse doors fly open from behind them, and Rocket freezes, his mouth snapping shut, his arms going rigid around the baby tree bundled in them.

"They were never going to in the first place," Drax is explaining to an exasperated Gamora.

Peter trudges over to the small pair and stares for a second, looking more tired than ever. Rocket doesn't blame him.

"Didn't take it?" he guesses.

"Half price," Peter confirms with a shrug. "Not that bad."

"Not that bad, my ass. We did the full job!"

"We'll have to be more careful next time then. I know you know what I mean by that."

They hold each others gaze until Rocket's sick of looking at his dumb face and turns away.

"Well, I know you know that I know you were being a total dick about it earlier," he mutters, not without humor.

"Yeah... And you know that I know that. You know?"

"Okay, god, you're killin' me here, Quill. I'm already an injured man, for fuck's sake, don't give me a headache, too."

Peter chuckles and shakes his head, wiping at the yellow stain on his pants that has soaked in like ink.

"Yeah, alright. We good, Rocket?"

'Course, we're good. We were never not good! We will never  _be_ not good!

Rocket doesn't say it. It tosses itself back and forth on the tip of his tongue, and he ends up swallowing it down.

"We'll be good when we get back to the ship and manage to get a full night's sleep," he jokes instead, bouncing Groot on his hip again. The small plant stretches and cuddles closer, so Rocket obliges and hugs him to his chest like his life depends on it. Just because that's what Groot wants.

"Aw," Gamora smiles fondly at the sight, her hands on her hips. "Some little guy's all tuckered out, huh?"

"Anyone would be," the creature holding him retorts. "Hangin' around you lot."

"How's your side feeling, tough guy?" she asks, her eyes peering into his in a way that says 'if you lie to me, I'll make it hurt worse'.

"Uh... not so hot," he answers truthfully.

"I'll take a look at it again back on the ship."

"I don't know..." he hesitates as they start following Peter down the street, back towards the docking station so they can get their ship and get off this planet. "I gotta watch Groot and everything. You know how he wakes up every hour and demands attention. And water. And music."

" _Rocket_ ," Gamora chides.

"I can watch him," Drax offers easily from behind her. "While you all are resting or doing whatever other inane things you do in your spare time, I thought I'd take the opportunity to train my skills in battle more."

Gamora arches an eyebrow, impressed at his desire to train after the incredibly long day they've had. Peter whistles back from over his shoulder.

"Damn, Drax! You're kind of a beast!"

Drax just blinks at the back of Peter's head. "...No, I am... actually fully a man. I... don't know why you would assume otherwise..."

Peter and Rocket laugh hard enough at that to wake up Groot, who grumbles at first, but, at the sound of Rocket's laughter, ends up pressing his face into his fur and giggling against his neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be happier and more light-hearted, I promise :')


	2. A Prodded Venus Flytrap

Ever since Peter made the rule of no Groot on risky or dangerous jobs, Rocket has got to admit he regrets getting so angry about it. He's honestly got Peter to thank for possibly lengthening his already incredibly short life-span, because his Groot-related stress levels used to be off the charts during a job. Now, instead of worrying where Groot is, how he's doing, _what_  he's doing, whether he's all fine and dandy or if he got into some big trouble and they need to start looking for a twig to regrow him from again, instead of all those worries, Rocket would theoretically be free to focus on what the Guardians of the Galaxy do best during missions: kick some major ass.

However, what they all quickly find out is that Groot in his smallest and most vulnerable form can still cause some issues even when he's not brought along with them. Actually these new issues are solely and specifically _because_  he is not brought along with them.

"Are you sure you know where it is?" Rocket asks.

It's for the fifth time, sure, but he wants to be clear here.

"I am Groot," his tiny partner in crime - well, partner on hold, seeing as how he's not allowed on any of their bounty jobs anymore - squeaks back.

"Are you sure?" Rocket stresses, cupping Groot in both hands and holding him up to his face. "I gotta know for sure, buddy."

Groot stares deeply into his eyes then smiles slowly and nods, and Rocket swears he can feel his heart expand in his chest from the sight. My god, he wonders, is that normal...? Should he be concerned? Is he dying?

He swallows hard and tries to... oh god. Something wet slips from his right eye and soaks into his fur. Oh, no. This can't be happening. He's just leaving Groot for at most five hours, he cannot be so emotionally attached to him that he's crying about this. He's not some pansy! He's not some weak, unmanly, delicate little.... Okay, no, he is definitely crying.

Groot's eyes grow wide at the fallen tear, his tiny mouth opening in a gasp. That adorable expression is really not helping the situation one bit. Rocket turns his face away when Groot starts jumping up and down in his hands, his arms stretched out, trying to reach up to Rocket's face.

"Yo, we all good in here- ...Bro, you okay?"

"I'M FINE!!!" Rocket says. Well, less says and more yells incredibly defensively.

"I am Groot!" Groot betrays him, explaining to Peter that he's crying, but thank god, Rocket thinks, that Peter doesn't have a damn clue what Groot just said.

"Just makin' sure Groot knows where his water is... And how to use the comm if he needs anything," Rocket tries to casually play off, which a hard thing to do when his voice cracks mid-sentence and when Groot has grabbed two of his whiskers and is desperately growing vines out of his arms towards his right eye.

Peter squints at the scene before him.

"Riiiiight..."

"Right." Rocket clears his throat, trying not to notice how Groot's own big brown eyes have become glassy as well, the corners of his mouth curved down into a tiny frown. Oh, hell...

Rocket really has an explanation here, he tries to reason with himself. He's not just getting all mushy for no reason. The two of them had been attached at the hip ever since Rocket first picked up that stray twig out of the ring of sticks that was left of his sacrifice. Groot's new pot had been set up on a table in his room and everything, and, after he grew himself a pair of legs and stepped out of it about two weeks again now, he's continued to sleep right there in the soil, right on Rocket's bedside table, every single night.

So, yeah, it does hurt to part with him like this, to leave him all alone on this big ship for multiple hours at a time, because, since growing that protective barrier around them all and sacrificing his life for them, it's the only other time Rocket is not right there by his side. They've had three jobs since the rule about Groot staying was made and agreed upon by the other members, and even by Groot himself, but, every time, even this fourth time, it still just reminds Rocket of that dreadful, horrible, all-encompassing sadness of losing his best friend.

He knows it shouldn't, he knows it's wrong and messed-up and really unhealthily dependent, but every time he has to hop out of the ship and leave Groot behind inside of it, he sees all those dead sticks and branches on the ground all over again, and a million pound weight hits him square in the chest.

So, grab a blackboard and chalk up yet another traumatic experience to the long, long list of those he's already acquired in life so far, all of which have made his already unstable mental state even more twisted and vulnerable. Not to mention his pre-existing OCD. Maybe he should finally get around to seeing a therapist or something one of these days.

"I am Groot..." Groot's small, sad voice pulls him out of his own self-deprecating thoughts, and, god, he really wishes it hadn't. Groot's face is borderline a weapon of mass destruction from how sad it looks now.

"No, c'mon, it's fine. I'm fine, pal. Okay?"

"Uhhhh," Peter awkwardly makes his presence known again, adjusting the gun at his hip. "Are you sure you're fine, man, because... I mean, I couldn't help but notice that every time we go on job now, you get this look about you like you're a dying man and it's literally your final minute alive. Ya know?"

"No, actually, I don't know. That's not at all what I look like." Rocket straightens up, rubbing Groot's tiny back with an index finger, leaning away from the vine shield he's building over his right eye, and trying in vain to defuse the situation.

"Uh, yeah, it is! I'm the one who can see your face, not you! How the hell would you know? Matter of fact, Groot, say 'I am Groot' if you think Rocket looks like his favorite childhood puppy got cannoned into space every time we leave for a job."

"I am Groot!"

"What?! That means absolutely nothing, that's all Groot knows how to say, you asshole! And I never had a childhood puppy, what the hell! I hate dogs! Is that some joke about how I'm an animal or something, because I swear to frickin' god-"

"You just heard it is from Groot himself! It's obvious how sad you get. You look like you're about leave him forever or something. Sure, Groot's cute like this and all, but getting that emotional is kinda... Is there something you want to talk about, Rocket?"

"I am _not_ getting emotional!"

And, like a prodded Venus flytrap, just like that Rocket sets Groot down on the ground, steels his face, and turns to face Quill.

"Let's get the job done," he speaks out gruffly, but Peter just crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow.

Thankfully, he says nothing more of it as they leave the ship. Rocket still feels that small patch of wet, matted fur under his right eye, though, and is vaguely aware of it for the entire five hour mission.

* * *

"Rocket, shoot its tail off now!"

Rocket races to get around the giant creature and follow Peter's instructions, leveling his machine gun right at the base of the ugly thing's swishing tail.

"-am Groot..."

It buzzes in over his comm system and freezes him in his tracks.

"What'd ya mean you can't find your water bottle?" he mutters back, his aim on the tail wavering. He looks away from the creature altogether, his mind now fully preoccupied by trying to remember where he put Groot's water bottle. "Shouldn't it be by your pot in my room? Didn't we go over this before I left?"

"Rocket?!" Gamora yells out from across the room.

"No, it's there," he argues back to Groot over his comm. He turns away from the monster that's thrashing and roaring because, at this point, it's just distracting. "You sure you didn't move it somewhere else? ...Are you even in the right room?!"

"Argh! Rocket, what are- Ah!"

Something slams against the ground next to Rocket, and, when he glances to it, he sees that it's Peter, who's yelling at him and gesturing wildly his way. Rocket nods impatiently and holds up his index finger, signalling for him to wait, to which Peter's face contorts into a cocktail of disbelief, rage, confusion, and tentative understanding.

"Yeah, take a left from where you are, then you should be good," Rocket directs, strolling to the edge of the room to get away from all the noise so he can hear Groot properly.

"What are you doing?!" Drax yells to his back, but Rocket rolls his eyes in annoyance and keeps walking. Seriously, can't they see he's busy here? How rude...

"Yeah, yeah. With the blue label, yeah. Mhm, you got it. ...What'd ya mean you don't got it? It's _empty_? Then fill it with water, stupid! C'mon, you know where that is. Really? Okay, now you're pullin' my leg here. Yeah, I knew you were! Heheh... Yeah, it was pretty funny, I'll give you that. All good now? Mhm, we'll be done soon. I miss you, too, ol' buddy, ol' pal. Call again if you need anything else, alright? Yeah, anything, anything at all. I'll answer, I swear. Alright. Yup, I'll see ya soon. Don't get into trouble back there! You know I mean it, Groot. Yeah, okay. Gotta go now. Talk to you later. Yup, bye."

Rocket spins around, lifting his machine gun, locked and loaded and ready to finish the fight.

He sees Peter, Gamora, and Drax all standing in a row and staring blankly down at him. Behind them, the monster is in pieces and motionless on the ground.

"Oh."

"Yeah," Gamora nods, panting as she sheathes her sword with intentional force. "Oh."

"Uh... Great job, Guardians. Really, couldn't a done better myself. I had feeling we wouldn't need all those new, powerful guns I brought specifically for this job."

Peter ignores his attempt at humor and looks to the two beside him.

"All in favor of a group meeting back on the ship by show of hands?"

He watches helplessly as Peter, Gamora, and Drax all raise their hands in perfect unison.

* * *

"I don't know if you've noticed yet or not, I mean, we've been coworkers for about a few months now, so you really should have, but it's not just you and Groot anymore, buddy! We're a team now, and we need to know we've got each other's backs."

"Well, excuse me if that's a little hard to do when I'm-"

"Worried about Groot so much," Drax finishes pointedly, his arms crossed.

"....worried about Groot so much. Why'd ya have to say it before I could; now I just feel like a moron."

"I hope you're getting the point here, Rocket."

"What point?! God! Ain't you all supposed to be professionals?! You handled it fine without me!"

"But what if we hadn't?" Gamora asks.

"Okay, if you're gonna go through the infinite 'what ifs', I'm walkin' away right now."

"Oh, no, no," Peter steps forward, pointing an accusatory finger, "You are not running away from a group meeting again. It happens way too often!"

"I got shit to do!" Rocket yells back.

"What shit that's more important than our survival?!"

"Any fuckin' thing else in the universe!!!"

The words come out before he can stop them. It slowly dawns on him that he can't take them back once they've fallen out of his stupid mouth. He can't take back that shock on Drax's face, that dejection on Gamora's, or that anger and disappointment on Peter's. He can't take it back and he can't take it at all, so he leaves, goes to his room, and closes the door behind him.

"Ah, dammit," he mutters, running his hands down his face.

His eyes fall on the newest batch of explosives he's been working on, and they draw him over like a moth to a flame. Working on technical and mechanical projects is so easy, he thinks. It's not like leaving his old best friend behind, having group meetings with his new friends, or talking to people about feelings and emotions and whatnot.

It's therapeutic, in a way that doesn't hurt like all those other things do. He gets to build a sweet weapon, thinking about nothing but the weapon itself and the process of building it. No intrusive thoughts, no worries. Just making complicated and crazy shit from basically scratch. _That's_ what he's good at. That's what he was genetically engineered to do after all.

Time passes; more than he can keep track of, until it's getting late on the ship. Except, not really.

It's always dark outside when you're floating stationary in space, but Peter has this old watch from Earth that Rocket has fixed up about a hundred times now. Because it has broken so much, and was broken for about ten years straight before Peter met Rocket, it's highly likely that the thing is not tuned _at all_  to follow Earth time anymore. Not even close. It's incredibly far off from the actual time it is back on Earth right now, in whatever state or county or area Peter got abducted from by the Ravagers when he was nine years old; so far off that it's almost laughable. But Rocket fixes it up whenever it stops, and they all follow the time it reads anyway, because Peter does so why not?

Right now, that old watch, which Peter leaves on a stray container of gear in the main walkway, so anybody can see it if they want to, says it's a little after 1:00 A.M.

Rocket figures that's not too bad. The regular is seeing it say something like 6:00 A.M. before he stops building explosives and making modifications to guns and crawls into his bed, trying to grasp the last few hours of sleep left to grasp.

Some days, on bad days, he'll check it every three hours until it reads 10:00 A.M. and hear through the walls as the others slowly wake up and the ship becomes alive again with more than just his quiet presence. On _really_  bad days, the worst of days, he won't check the damn thing at all, only stopping his work once someone taps on his door and tells him it's time to move out.

He doesn't know if this day is a regular day, a bad day, or a really bad day yet. Maybe the fun of being so mentally scrambled is finding out which one it's gonna be as the hands on that watch tick on and on.

"It's late," Gamora's voice drifts over to him. She's leaning in the doorway of his room, her hip cocked, Groot on her shoulder. It bothers Rocket that he didn't notice her open the door at all. Assassins...

He pauses to glance up at them, his eyes running over Groot. The little guy's sitting restlessly, kicking his feet without a care in the world. Rocket's a bit envious of him.

"Hm," he hums, turning back to his work.

"...Have you eaten yet today?"

"Mhm."

"Dinner?"

"Sure."

There's a light sigh. It rolls over Rocket's shoulders like the weight of the galaxy.

"Well... if you're staying up again, mind watching the little monster?"

"Sure. I'll make sure our local terrorist has company."

"I am Groot!"

"Oh, please. You can't deny it."

Gamora yawns as she lowers Groot to the floor and he hops cutely over to Rocket's side.

"Well. Good night then."

He grumbles back something unintelligible.

"...I said good night, Rocket."

"Yeah, night."

Before she leaves, she stops and looks back. Her voice is so soft that, for a moment, Rocket can imagine they're the only three people on this ship.

"Hey, this might sound a bit strange, but I realized, you remind me of my sister, in a weird way. You make it... hard. To get close to you. Not impossible. But hard."

Rocket graces her with something he rarely does whenever someone interrupts his work: he takes the time to look her right in the eyes.

"Don't we all?"

Gamora smiles in response, but there's sadness in it. Rocket almost regrets saying anything, because it makes her stop and come back into his room.

"Groot's coming on our next mission, by the way."

"What?" he blurts out, taken aback. He turns from his work completely to face her. Groot is sitting in his tool bag now, wrapping his vines around a wrench and lifting it above his head.

Gamora shrugs. "Peter said, even if it screws things up, it's more important to screw things up together than apart."

"Ah, damn... I hate it when Quill gets the final word in and it's somethin' really good!" Rocket fumes. "That's so infuriating!"

"More importantly, Rocket," Gamora points out with a smile that's not so sad anymore. "I think you should talk with him in the morning."

"Why the hell would I have anything to say to that guy?!" he instinctively argues, swallowing his words when he sees Gamora's unimpressed face in response. "Hah... Yeah, just kiddin'. We'll talk."

She leaves soon after that, satisfied, and when Rocket turns back to his work, he sees that Groot has fallen asleep right in his tool bag, his vines still wrapped around the wrench he was holding like he's hugging a stuffed toy to his chest. Rocket looks for a while from his half-finished explosive to occupied tool bag and sighs.

He doesn't go out to check the watch like he normally would - OCD be damned. Instead, he leaves his half-worked bomb where it lies, gathers up Groot, gently prying the wrench away from his vines, which then wrap themselves around Rocket's arms instead when they have nothing else to hold onto, and carries him into his bed.

"Hey there, big guy... Had all your water today?"

Groot doesn't respond, but sleepily blinks up at him, yawning and rolling over to cuddle into the fur on his arm.

"I'll take that as a yes," he mumbles, clawing up his bed with one hand, cradling Groot with the other.

He knows Groot generally prefers to sleep in the familiarity and warmth of the soil of his pot, but, something tells Rocket, as he curls up into a ball on the center of his soft cot, forming a circle around the tiny flora colossus with his body and tail, that Groot won't mind sleeping like this instead, even if only for one night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess an alternate title to this fic could be "Rocket Struggling with Two Firsts: Being a Parent and Having Friends".


	3. That's Not How Talking Works

"Uh. Rocket?"

"Yeah, Quill?"

Though they're just in the cockpit of the ship together, a familiar place for both of them, Peter looks around like he's expecting a hidden camera crew to hop out of the shadows and scream 'gotcha, you're being broadcasted on live TV all around the galaxy!'

"...Why did you call me here again?"

"We're talkin'," Rocket declares with a wave of his hand, like it's obvious.

"But we've been sitting here for ten minutes, and neither of us has said a word."

"Right. So?"

"So that's not how talking works!"

"I am Groot!"

"And why is Groot here?!" Peter exclaims. "I thought you wanted to discuss him. You can't really discuss someone when they're still in the room with you!"

"He was feelin' lonely and didn't wanna be left out. He told you to pipe down, by the way."

Peter sighs, collapsing back into the co-pilot seat and staring out the window at the stars around them.

"Hey, Groot. Tell Rocket that as a master criminal who's talked his way out of every situation possible, he's actually horrible at talking."

Groot dutifully hops over from where he's standing on the dashboard as Rocket angles the ship towards the destination of their next job.

"I am Groot," he tells Rocket.

"Well, Groot, that's just fascinating, really, thank you for letting me know that. Tell Shit-Lord that's 'cause I'm good at bullshittin' people, not talkin' to 'em!"

Groot hops over to Peter.

"I am Groot!"

"Language, Groot."

"Groot, would you be a dear and tell Rocket that he's the asshole who called me here to talk in the first place, so I'm really the one who's doing _him_ a favor right now by taking the time to reach out to him like any good friend would?"

Groot hops over to Rocket.

"I am..." he pauses and looks down.

"He already forgot what you said," Rocket explains. "You gotta talk slower and use less words."

"Are we there yet?" Drax asks suddenly from behind them, having entered the cockpit while they were distracted.

"We're still in space, Drax," Peter mumbles, propping an elbow on the dash and tapping his foot against the floor. "How could we be there yet?"

Rocket recognizes the beat of what Peter's tapping immediately: Flashlight by Parliament. He's only a little ashamed that he knows all the words, even the weird dialogue in the middle of all the repetitive singing. Knows it by heart.

Drax fixes his piercing gaze on Peter.

"Answering my question with a question does not answer my question, Quill."

"Okay," Rocket points out, "I might suck at talkin', but I'm not _that_ bad."

"Excuse me? I've been told I'm excellently proficient at speaking. No offense, but I would not trust someone of your unintelligent rodent species to know about such manners in the first place."

"Drax... You can't just say no offense and expect it to make everything you say after that not offensive," Peter tells him in a hushed voice as Rocket grips the controls tighter and silently fumes in his chair.

"Oh? I should say no offense after the offensive statement then."

"Um... Well, no. Maybe?"

"How about you don't say it at all unless you want my foot up your ass?!" Rocket threatens, pulling them smoothly into the docking zone.

"That is not at all menacing. Your feet are rather small. I doubt I would know it's even there."

"It's true, your feet are small," Peter adds.

"I can see that we're off to a good start," Gamora says sarcastically as she joins them in the cockpit. She has her sword unsheathed from when she was sharpening it in the back room for their upcoming job. She steps past Drax and plants a hand on the top of Rocket's chair, leaning on it as Rocket eases them into a parking spot.

Her gaze rests on Peter's reclined form beside them and lingers there.

"Well," Peter says, "we were talking about Rocket's tiny foot inside of Drax's ass, so if that's a good start for you, I'm concerned."

She slumps against Rocket's chair and promptly looks away.

Rocket gets them safely landed amidst the bickering and insults, and they all exit the Milano together as one, as the Guardians of the Galaxy.

In all their slow, lazy, mildly-bored glory.

* * *

Rocket knows his new friends would be ashamed to hear it, but he not-so-secretly actually misses being a full-time criminal. And more than just a little. He stole what he wanted, killed who he wanted, and answered to no one but Groot. And Groot didn't ask for much.

It's obvious that Groot loves the other guardians. He loves them with every ounce of his wooden or otherwise heart. Rocket knows he does, because the guy killed himself for them. That's kind of as loving as it gets.

So, if Groot loves them so much already, maybe Rocket could learn to love them, too? Is that how it works? God, he doesn't know the first thing about how it works... With Groot, it just... happened. One day they were sticking together because they were two outlaws who wanted to survive, and the next thing Rocket knew, he was sleeping with his claws dug into the back of Groot's neck, curled up with the big quiet guy and wondering what that feeling of peace in his chest was. That feeling of finally belonging after years of being tortured and alone.

He shouldn't distrust them so much, Rocket knows. He shouldn't push them away. It's just hard not to. For the first time in his life, he has a family, a real one, and that's a lot to handle. It might not be as sudden as it was with Groot, but maybe, some day, he'll wake up and feel that peace in his chest again, that strong sense of belonging, knowing and loving that he's surrounded by the people who care for him more than anyone else in the universe. Maybe some day...

Right now, it's a little hard to search for that feeling of peace and belonging, though.

Especially right now, in fact, as Groot is strapped to his chest like one of those frontal baby carriers, his vines acting as the straps around his shoulders and back, and Peter has him held by the waist in two hands over his head like a fuzzy little football, ready to fling him across the room.

Yeah, it's a little hard right now for soul-searching.

"I usually have a jet-pack for this, ya know!" Rocket yells over the explosion of gunfire around them. Elsewhere in the room, Drax and Gamora are cutting down space-thugs while these three struggle with getting the stolen weapons they were hired to retrieve.

"Same, buddy!" Peter yells back, gripping him tighter. "But they burned out all our crap with that EMP, so we gotta improvise! Ready?"

Rocket lets go of the hand around his waist to support his huge gun with both hands, looking down to Groot on his chest who, somehow, miraculously, has appeared to have fallen asleep in all the chaos, his face pressed against Rocket's chest and drool sliding down his chin. One of the thugs fires a shot so close to his face that Rocket swears at least one of his whiskers was scorched off. He takes a deep breath, stares up at his target, a locked door on the upper floor with no other access than a guarded elevator, and gives Peter his final answer.

"You bet your ass I'm ready!!!"

Peter arches his arms back and throws him as hard as he can.

His aim is off, and it's a mad scramble to get his claws hooked over the railing, but Rocket manages and races to the elevator with his finger glued to the trigger of his gun, mowing down all the jackasses who are standing in front of it and pretending they're doing something important.

He uses a miniature jack to pry open the doors and squeeze into the elevator shaft.

"Now would be the worse time to let go, Groot..." he grits out, shouldering his gun and clawing his way up the shaft with three limbs. After jimmying open a panel at the top, he pulls himself up into the elevator.

Groot mumbles something sleepily against his chest that he can't make out, but, if Rocket had to guess, he'd bet it was something along the lines of "I" and "am" and "Groot". Specifically in that order.

It takes him little effort to blast the doors open with a contained explosive and gun down the other jackasses who were standing up there and also pretending they were doing something important.

"Rocket?" he hears Quill yell from downstairs.

"Yeah, yeah, keep your panties on, Starface," he grumbles to himself as he sets down his gun to dig through the pouch of goodies on his hip, searching for the right tool that's going to get this bolted door open. Groot wiggles against his chest and yawns, adjusting his vines to hold on tighter.

"Workin' on it!" he yells back.

"Not on my watch, rat!" someone quips from behind him, probably quite proud of himself for getting that one-liner out. Rocket snatches his gun back up and tries to dodge, but can't turn around fast enough before a shot is fired right at him.

He shuts his eyes against the flash of light from the laser rifle and squeezes his trigger reflexively, taking the guy out before he can fire a single more time, but he heard that first shot go off. He saw it. He just wonders why he isn't feeling the familiar sting of a laser shot heating up the front of his armor.

Oh.

 _No_.

All he gets is a split second, a brief glimpse of a charred hole and the horrible scent of burning wood before Groot's vines wilt from around his body and fall to the floor at his feet. The baby flora colossus falls off of him with a weak yelp and lands on his back, so he can't assess the damage, but Rocket saw enough. There's no mistaking the wisps of smoke and the distinct smell that reminds him of a campfire.

His hands shake around his gun, his mind racing and his feet cemented to the floor. He goes through all the excuses, all the variables: this has never happened before, Groot's bark is usually strong enough to shield laser fire, he's shielded Rocket from barrages of it in the past, so what is it, what went wrong-

"Rocket?!" Peter calls to check up on him again. "How we doin' up there?"

He doesn't answer back. He can't.

He stands frozen above Groot's limp body on the ground until the gunfire in the building has slowly died, and something in him finally screams MOVE, you idiot!

"We, uh..." he starts, breathless, gingerly lifting Groot in his hands and walking to the railing. The others are gathered under him on the first floor, gazing up in concern and confusion. "I-I..."

Needless to say, they don't finish the job.

* * *

"As far as I could see, there were minor burns, that, because of how delicate his new wood is, managed to damage it quite deeply. I've cleaned out all of the destroyed wood. It will take him a few days to grow that back, but he should make a full recovery."

The room swells with silence after Gamora has spoken, like they expect Rocket to say something first. He is the closest to Groot, after all. When he doesn't say a word, not even pausing his meticulous sorting through his tools to look up, Peter steps forward, instead. He's good at that. It's part of why he's their leader.

"What happened today was unfortunate, but nobody could've stopped it. We all know that. Honestly, if it had to happen to anyone, let's be happy it happened to Groot. That guy can bounce back from anything."

"Let's be happy it happened to Groot..?" Rocket growls out slowly through clenched teeth. His fist tightens around a screwdriver like he's about to gut somebody with it.

"Oh, you know what I mean, Rocket!"

"It was a minor injury," Drax speaks with no filter, as usual, and turns to leave. "To let that tear you apart is a sign of emotional weakness."

Gamora sighs and passes a hand over her face, looking to the floor as silence hangs over them again.

"I'll go check on Groot again," she excuses herself, her eyes fixed to Rocket. "I hate to say it, but Drax has a point. We shouldn't dwell on this and blame ourselves. We should learn from it, and let it strengthen us."

After she leaves, it's awkward, but not in a way that's uncomfortable. It's awkward in a way that feels like unspoken words are filling the room and making it hard to breathe. At least that's how it feels to Rocket.

Quill stands behind him, idly pacing around, while he continues to work and ignore him, trying to stop some of those unspoken words from suffocating him. He doesn't last long.

"You were right, Quill. He's still too young to bring with us." His voice is soft and tired. His body and mind don't have the energy to argue anymore, but against all odds, that confrontational part of him rears its ugly head anyway. "You win, ya hear that? Congrats. You win."

"You know I never wanted something like this to happen. For Groot to get hurt? Just to prove my point?"

How disgusted and offended Peter sounds makes Rocket flinch. Before he leaves like the others, he says one last thing to Rocket's back that really twists the knife.

"He would be so disappointed in how you're acting right now."

Rocket ignores the sharp pain in his chest and just keeps sorting his crap and feeling like garbage. When there's nothing left to sort, no repairs left to work on, no projects to get started, he wanders up the ship and into the main area, what they like to call the meeting room.

Groot's old pot has been taken from his room and set up there on a small table with four chairs around it. An old heat lamp they bought when he was still a baby sprig has been taken out from storage and set up over it again. When Rocket climbs up onto one of the chairs, he sees that Groot himself has been laid down inside his pot, curled up in the soil under the lamp like he's just taking a nap. His wood and the soil around him are damp from being freshly watered.

All of the blackened wood in his injury has been scraped out, like Gamora said, but the deep hole remains, revealing the light tan color of his inner torso. It's right over his spine. Rocket knows that his wood fibers are working at an unimaginable rate to heal and regrow, but he still can't help but grimace when he sees it.

"I'm sorry, big guy..." he whispers, wiping a spot of soil from Groot's small cheek. His little mouth is in a frown, his brow is scrunched like he's suffering from a nightmare. "Didn't even stop to think about what you need. Only what I wanted..."

He stays there for a while, with lack of anything else to do, staring at Groot and watching the color of his soil lighten as it slowly dries.

He doesn't know how long he sits there, but later into the artificial night, based on what the old Earth watch reads, Peter comes in and sits down in the chair beside him. He's changed into a blue tank top and baggy sweat pants, the poster boy of a young man after a hard day of work. They sit in silence for a while, though it's not as awkward as it was before, now that volatile emotions have had time to fizzle out. If anything, it's peaceful.

"Sup, Quill?" Rocket murmurs eventually, breaking the silence. He taps a claw against the metal table, shifting in his seat. "You come here to be alone? I can go."

"Nah," Peter says, leaning back in his chair, watching Groot rest. "Just... came here to talk."

Regardless of what Peter said, they sit there for at least another hour in complete silence, calm and thoughtful, watching Groot and the universe drifting by outside the nearby window.

Neither of them says anything the whole time. Neither of them has to.

The words remain unsaid, but their unspoken phantoms melt away into the stars. Rocket can hear them clear as day and knows that Peter can, too.

'I'm sorry'. And 'I forgive you'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did somebody here order an odd mix of both humor and complete, heart-wrenching tragedy? The Guardians of the Galaxy have got you covered.


	4. Ugly and Stupid

Although Groot is officially, _officially_  barred from missions now, they still take a few days off for his recovery, drifting through space and resting up. They certainly have enough money saved up to vacation for a week with no worries, which seems to be exactly what everyone needed. The ship is much happier and cozy in these days off, despite Groot's injury being the reason why they're taking time off in the first place. Everyone seems like they needed the break, but, although they are supposed to be resting, Rocket is the only one who continues to hold the title of ship's full-time repairman.

This particular day, he's set up shop in the common area, mostly ignoring the other guardians attempts at conversation as they pass and humming quietly along to the music Peter has playing from the stereo system nearby. Groot's pot, with Groot inside of course, is set up right beside him.

The day after the botched mission, Gamora, the ship's early riser, told them all she woke to see that Groot had planted himself down into the soil and couldn't be budged. Although he had already grown and used legs, they either must have fused to set down roots again or grown roots out from his feet. Either way, in the morning, he was burrowed into the soil from the waist down, just as he had been as a tiny little twig, still weakened from his injury but otherwise smiling and waving up at anyone who passed him.

Rocket can see him now, dancing and swaying to the music out of the corner of his eye. When he bends his way to pick up a tool, Groot freezes like a statue, staring up at him with big brown eyes and a tiny smile.

Happiest gunshot patient in the galaxy, Rocket thinks with a shake of his head. As soon as his eyes leave the little guy, he starts swaying again to the beat of Fox On The Run.

"Groot, can ya do me a favor?" Groot freezes again at the sound of his voice. "Can you not be a complete idiot and scare me like that again? Think you can manage that for me?"

When he looks down to Groot, the injured plant is smiling up at him lovingly, like he knows Rocket's rude sarcasm is only to hide his sincerity. Hell, Groot's been with him long enough and knows him better than anyone. Rocket wouldn't be surprised if the guy knows everything he's thinking by now, knows what he's going to say before he says it, and knows what mood he's in just from a glance. He knows he feels that close to Groot, so it must go both ways.

When something thin and brown approaches his face, he flinches instinctively. It's just a vine from Groot's hand, he sees, weaving up towards his face, and when another sprouts from Groot's other hand, he holds still, waiting and watching Groot's smile soften.

Both of those thin vines come up to cup his face, brushing his whiskers and under his eyes, just like one did when he was begging Groot not to sacrifice himself for them. From this one simple touch, all those memories come flooding right back, like he's here again, in a dimly-lit cocoon of his best friend who's moments away from dying.

Rocket doesn't realize he's getting teary-eyed until Groot's face becomes blurry, so he looks away and clears his throat. Groot's vines follow his face and hold it again anyway.

"Hey... C'mon," he murmurs, reaching up to brush away a seeking vine. It curls around his hand, holding it tight. "I got a reputation to uphold..."

Groot says nothing and doesn't pull away, just staring fondly up into his eyes, so, for a few seconds, Rocket lets them have this moment. Rare moments like these that never seem to happen because they're either too busy working or Rocket's too busy pushing people away. He owes this to Groot now. He owes him this much.

"Rocket?"

He turns fast, feeling Groot's vine swipe along his snout. The other is still held tight in his paw, curled around it. So much for that rare moment.

"Yeah?" he blurts out, trying to sound annoyed and hard at work. He knows he's not fooling anyone. It's obvious that the only thing he's working hard on is tending to his injured best friend.

Gamora is standing across the room, watching them. He's about to ask them what the hell she wants when she opens her mouth first.

"You're pretty busy, for being on a temporary break."

Rocket feels the tug of Groot's vine around his hand when he tries to cross his arms.

"Worrin' about me in your spare time, Gams? Shit, I'm flattered. Should I tell Quill he's got some competition?"

"Do not fool yourself," she mutters. "I am simply pointing out that it can be detrimental to never give one's mind a rest. Even I know that, and I was worked to the bone under my father's control."

"Workin' _is_  relaxin' to me. I get to be alone, away from the rest a you crazies. The definition of paradise."

"I am serious, Rocket."

"So am I, lady."

Gamora shakes her head with a sigh, stepping closer despite his attempts to push her away. He hates how she does that, how all the rest of the guardians do it, too. The assassin's attention is solely on Groot now, though, crouching down by his pot and smiling back when he beams up at her. Now that she's so close, Rocket is incredibly self-conscious of the fact that he is still holding Groot's little vine.

"Doing okay?" she asks softly, and Groot obediently turns as much as he can to show her his back. The wound there is mostly filled out with new wood by now, but its lighter brown color compared to the rest of his body is a sure sign that it's still not fully healed yet.

She hums as she examines it, nodding.

"'Get to be alone', huh?" she asks, looking to Rocket. Her eyes twinkle, a smile playing on her lips, but Rocket holds his ground.

"Groot don't count. He's like a houseplant; I don't even notice he's here."

Her eyes flick down to his hand, encircled by Groot's vine, and her smile turns into a smirk.

"Uh huh..."

"You come here for somethin'?" he demands to know, getting defensive. How dare she invade his work space, tell him he's working too much, and then have the gall to tease him about who he can and can't hold hands with. Or, vines with. Well, vine and paw, really...

"Yes." She pushes herself back to her feet. "I came here for Groot. Mind if I steal him away for a quick checkup?"

Rocket kind of does mind. He was enjoying Groot's company, and, despite what he told Gamora, he doesn't actually want to be alone. While he's absentmindedly rubbing Groot's vine between his fingers, wondering how he can voice his thoughts without being seen as some overly-attached father, Gamora seems to catch on and nods in understanding.

"It's fine. I can check him here. Ready, Groot?"

Groot nods up to her, not looking so happy anymore, like he's not too fond of this part of his checkup. He reminds Rocket of a kid who's about to get a string of vaccination shots.

Gamora crouches again and digs her fingers deep into his soil, lifting up to unearth the thick roots beneath it. Groot clings to her finger and hangs along for the ride. Rocket didn't have a clue what was going on with Groot before, but now he can see that his legs have indeed fused again and become the main root to his torso, probably his body's involuntary response to the injury, to maximize the amount of nutrients he can draw from the soil.

It feels oddly intimate to see Groot lifted from his pot like this, which is ridiculous because Rocket knows he lacks genitalia and any sex organs in general. Still, it feels like a quiet and vulnerable moment. Groot's vine remains wrapped around his hand the whole time, as Gamora gently prods his main root and some smaller ones branching from it, checking for damage or rotting from over-watering. When she's satisfied with the state of them, she sets Groot back into his soil, where he takes over from there and burrows down until he's comfortable again.

"Everything looks perfect," she tells him, patting his soil down flat. It moves and shifts in waves, signs that his roots are still moving underneath the dirt and getting settled. "Healing while still growing back at such an accelerated rate... Your species is truly amazing, Groot."

"I am Groot."

She glances to Rocket for translation.

"He says it's nothing special."

Gamora huffs and pokes the middle of Groot's face, where a nose would be if he had one.

"Of course you are," she whispers back, wiping her dirty hands on her pants.

She gives Rocket one more lecture about working late into the night and skipping sleep, scowling and threatening his life when he sarcastically calls her mom. Once she's gone, Rocket hesitates to go back to his work, instead facing Groot, who'd started swaying to the faint strum of Southern Nights and freezes when their eyes meet.

He helped take care of Groot when he still a twig, but it was never like that, never so involved and personal. It was mostly carrying him around, talking to him, and helping him learn basic things that his tiny growing brain had to relearn all over again. They had never really been physical with each other, even before the sacrifice, when they were all each other had. He had occasionally slept on Groot's chest, in the crown of his head, curled up under his arm or any other part of his body, and they were always in contact during battle, because the easy route to high ground for Rocket sometimes meant the difference between life and death.

But there was something in how Gamora held him now that's sinking into his skin and eating away at him against his will. That intimacy in the action, that quiet trust between them. Jealousy burns in him, red hot, and it's ugly and stupid, because why would he be jealous that Groot, who once lost everyone and everything he ever loved, has more people he can rely on and trust now?

It's hard to acknowledge the reason why. Even harder to accept it.

Before Rocket escaped his old life and met Groot, he never even imagined he had the capacity to love. Something like him, half-manufactured, a monstrous, twisted mockery of some faraway species he didn't have a clue about. How could that thing love? Before he rejected the ideas of his creators, he wasn't a "he" at all. He was an "it". A specific combination of numbers and letters. A specimen.

He likes to think there's some morbid irony in the fact that the scientists who created him, who gifted him with higher sentience and intelligence, also tortured and abused him to the point of irreversible psychological damage. Hyper-aggression, chronic distrust of humankind, an almost complete inability to maintain healthy relationships. He often wonders why those scientists even did it. Why something like him even exists.

"I am Groot..."

Little Groot is blinking up at him with wide eyes. 'You look upset,' he said. Rocket guesses he probably would, given his current train of thought.

"Sorry," he mumbles, but it's not 'looking upset' that he's apologizing for.

Whether Groot understands that or not will remain unknown, because the little guy's attention shifts as quickly as a butterfly in a field of flowers. The next thing Rocket sees are both of his arms stretched out, a silent declaration that he wants up. He's never done that in his pot before, though, only when he grew his legs and got particularly tired of standing on them, so Rocket isn't sure what to do at first.

He picks up Groot's entire pot itself, but the little guy's arms are still raised to the sky, his head tilted back and eyes staring up, so Rocket sets it back down and hesitates, doubting himself.

Groot stares up at him with absolute trust.

The first thing he feels when he digs his claws into the soft rich soil is how warm it is to the touch, warmer than he'd expect a pile of average dirt to be. He knows more about flora colossi than most in the entire galaxy do, but doesn't have a clue about their young, wondering if that warmth is from Groot himself or not. His suspicions are confirmed as soon as he comes into contact with a warm stray root that curls around his finger. It's not uncomfortably warm, but a soothing warm, like the solace of a blanket in a chilly room.

He lifts Groot out as slowly as possible, perhaps too slowly, but he wants to be extra careful with this. Groot's out-stretched arms don't move an inch, so Rocket brushes dirt from his lower roots and pulls him closer still, up and away from his pot. A few clumps of dirt drop to the metal floor beneath them.

Groot's main root gradually coils around his wrist and forearm for lower support, spreading dirt into his fur, while his out-stretched arms grow longer to wrap around Rocket's neck. Rocket keeps his hands on his back, clutching the baby plant to his chest, and, for a while, just breathes against him, enjoying the warmth radiating down his arm and the quiet intimacy between them.

He likes to think this is different from what Gamora did. That, somehow, this means something more.

"I'll take better care of you," he whispers, closing his eyes, his chin brushing the top of Groot's head. "For you... I promise."

He doesn't know if he can keep it, if that promise is just another empty one, but he does know that he will try his hardest to make it true.

Groot continues to hold onto him until the little guy drifts off to sleep, arms tight around his neck with absolute trust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set a tentative limit of 10 chapters to this story, but, honestly, who knows what could happen


	5. Groot Knows Best

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the love and support, guys <3

The scars on his back are aching again. They do that occasionally, sometimes at random, sometimes when he's been bending too much and putting stress on the old wounds. Now is one of the latter cases.

Rocket stands up from where he is bent on the floor, working on the intricate machinery under the controls of the cockpit, and rubs at his shoulder, trying to will the old scars around his implants to stop itching and feeling like shit. Tissue-deep scars that will never fade are cursed to stay waxy and pink and over-sensitive forever, so it really is a pain when he has to stay bent over for a long period of time, stretching and irritating those waxy pink scars around his modifications.

He leaves his tools where they are and slumps off to the meeting room in annoyance, grumbling to himself and rubbing at the metal in his back through the fabric of his suit. It's annoying, sure, but he's learned to live with it. Honestly, the hardest part is resisting the urge to scratch at them, a serious problem that Groot helped him overcome when he escaped his old life and met the big guy.

He scrambles up into a seat and, after glancing to make sure the room is empty, gives in to the animalistic urge to rub his scars against the back of the chair. It only makes them itch more. Groot knows best after all. He continues to do it anyway, because Groot's not here right now, and they're driving him crazy, so much so that a part of him wants to tear his suit off so he can get his claws to those little bits of metal poking out of his flesh and scratch until they bleed. Of course, he thinks to himself, still squirming against the chair and trying to keep that violent urge under wraps, Groot always said don't scratch. He always knew best.

The only thing that makes him still is the distinct sound of boots against the metal flooring. They're heavy, but not Quill heavy. Heavier than that.

"Tired, my friend?" Drax asks, stepping into the room. He's panting and sweaty, having just finished working out by the looks of it. "I see that you're taking a rest as well."

Rocket grunts back, stretching the muscles in his neck to distract himself from his bothersome scars and thoughts of Groot and urges to hurt himself.

"Instead of wasting your remarkably short lifespan with all of the mechanical tinkering you do, you should really be training and improving your physique like the rest of us."

"Okay, meathead. That shit about my lifespan, totally unneeded, but thanks for that." Rocket leans his elbows on the table and runs his hands down his face, utterly exhausted. It's not from working, not really. It's more the combination of working _and_ losing sleep.

"You are very welcome, friend. I am serious. Obtaining a perfect body, such as mine, can be helpful in many ways."

Drax steps forward with his hands on his hips, dripping hubris and sweat, but Rocket just glances to him in fatigue.

"Save it. The only guns I need are the ones that fire hot lead."

When Drax tilts his head in confusion and gives him a 'what does that have to do with anything look', Rocket sighs.

"Ya know, 'cause... you're talkin' about workin' out and all. I was sayin' I don't need your kinda guns 'cause yours are from body buildin' and mine are the actual pointy, shooty... Ugh, never mind."

"Very well, I was beginning to tune you out anyway."

Drax paces around the room for a while, mostly breathing and flexing, while Rocket taps his claws against the table and closes his eyes, trying to relax. The itching is fading with time.

"I bet Groot small like this reminds you of your daughter, huh?" He says it as soon as it comes into his mind, with no filter and no sugar coating, even if it is a sensitive subject. He's not exactly a sensitive guy, and Drax knows that by now.

Drax pauses and looks taken aback, but smiles eventually, soft and mournful.

"I will admit. It is nice to care for something helpless once again. I had thought my heart hardened to stone with their deaths, that I would never again care for anything or anyone in the universe as strongly as I cared for them. It is nice to be proven wrong about that."

Drax is dramatic, as he chronically is, but Rocket can't say he's not touched to the core by those profound words and by that depth of love for them. In a way, he knows exactly how the guy feels, but, before he ends up admitting that, he tries to brush it off.

"Jeez, don't write me a poem here. Just asked a question."

"Oh! Interesting that you should mention that! I have actually been thinking about writing poetry as a pastime. The practice has been known to help coping with emotional stress and traumatic loss."

"Holy shit. Drax writin' poetry. I'd actually pay for some of that."

"Worry not. For my friends, it will be free to peruse."

"My god."

Rocket rubs at his back again, grimacing, as Drax sits down beside him. The bigger of the two fidgets restlessly like he wants to mention how tired and pained Rocket looks again but doesn't know how to bring it up. So they sit there quietly for a while until Rocket notices the warrior moving, slowly lifting a hand from his lap. It approaches him in almost slow motion, and, even though he saw it coming from a light year away, he still flinches when it settles on his head, right between his ears.

Rocket's muzzle snaps open instinctively, ready to bite, but he stops and forces himself to relax, slumping against his chair.

"You're tired," is all Drax says, his hand large and warm.

He gets a few gentle pets in before Rocket leans forward and grumbles out something close to words.

"...Lower... my back..."

No questions asked, Drax makes a small noise of acknowledgement and moves his hand to rub down his back, over the metal of his implants under his suit. It doesn't help the physical pain at all and, if anything, makes the itching worse, but it helps in its own way. In a way that Rocket can't explain.

* * *

Later, when he's continuing to nurse his scars and trying to keep any tools out of his idle hands, he finds Groot on the ship floor in the middle of the walkway with Gamora and Quill. They're sitting cross-legged and face to face with Groot between them. Over the past few days, Groot has healed extraordinarily fast, true to his regenerative species, and is now safely out of his pot, free to leap and bound wherever he pleases once again. Which also means that everyone has gone back to putting their valuables out of reach.

Right now he's standing between the two adults, his little head swiveling back and forth as the both of them speak.

"Stay back," Gamora says.

"Yes," Peter agrees, "Like _way_ back."

"And if something dangerous heads your way, it's okay to run."

Groot stares up at her and nods.

"Yes. Run away, find a gun, then come back and help us."

"Peter."

"What?! That's good advice, right? That's what Yondu used to tell me all the time when I was a little kid."

"I am Groot!"

Peter and Gamora stop to look at each other.

"...I'm going to assume he said okay."

"I'm almost 100% sure that is not what he said, Peter."

"Well, how do you know, Gamora? You don't understand ....Grootlish."

"I am learning..."

"Liar."

"He said," Rocket interrupts them, stepping up behind Gamora, "that he can handle any danger all by himself, which, by the way, _Groot_ , is not true at all."

Groot runs to Gamora at the sound of his voice and climbs onto her knee, smiling up at Rocket and waving. He indulges the little guy by running a finger across the tiny leaf on his head.

"Hey, Groot. Never take advice from lunatics, got it?"

"So he should never listen to you ever again then?" Peter scoffs.

Rocket tilts back his head and laughs hard as Peter leans on his hands and rolls his eyes.

"Hahahaha! Oh, man! Oh, Quill..." He sobers and meets Peter's gaze with a glower. "That was a fake laugh, by the way. If you couldn't tell."

"I could tell, jackass."

"Perfect."

Rocket massages his shoulder again, debating whether to sit with the three for a while and play translator. Groot just looked so excited to see him when he walked over, and he doesn't mind trying to teach others to understand Groot. He knows it will happen eventually, though, just like how he learned.

"You okay?"

Gamora's eyes are alert and concerned, and Rocket realizes his hand has been kneading at his shoulder this whole time.

"Ah.. Uh. Yeah. Right as rain," he mumbles, dropping his hand to his side. Gamora's eyes narrow.

"Have you been working all day again?"

Fuckin' hell, Rocket thinks, rolling his shoulders and plopping down to sit by her knee, right in front of Groot. Is this lady a psychic or what? There's absolutely no denying it at this point; Gamora knows him far too well by now, which is both heartwarming and awful at the same time. Not to mention unfamiliar. Someone other than Groot knowing him that well and being genuinely concerned on top of that...

Groot's eyes are focused and hard, burning through Rocket's face, because he's dealt with this before. He knows. Groot always knows best, Rocket reminds himself, sighing in defeat.

"Yeah," he finally admits, "I, uh... My..." It's like pulling teeth getting the words out. He's never had to say it before. Groot always just knew. "My... Ugh."

"Your shoulder is bothering you?" Gamora guesses, her tone even and non-judgmental. She's being a great friend, you fuckin' idiot, Rocket screams to himself, but there's still that part of him that whispers insidiously, she pities you like the pathetic little creature you are and you don't need her charity.

Groot's face is mostly blank but stern, small brown eyes still focused on his. Rocket can't look away from them, like they're an extra oxygen suit at the edge of the universe.

"Is it those... things on your back?" Peter brings up, his head tilted, gaze curious. Easy and simple, with such a casual and friendly air that it takes Rocket's breath away and slaps him in the face.

"Yeah, yeah, the scars back there," he mumbles, looking down to his lap as Groot hops off of Gamora and walks around him. "Groot-"

The gentle feeling of what must be a vine curls over his back without warning, sweeping over it widely to search, then finds one of the metal protrusions and prods at the flesh around it. Rocket sighs and rolls his shoulders again.

Instead of saying 'told you so, you _were_ working way too hard', Gamora just watches Groot then glances to Rocket.

"We were trying to brief him on future battle tactics."

"With little success," Peter adds, fiddling with the bottle cap of the drink that's set beside him. He flicks it into the air and catches it in the palm of his hand.

"Oh yeah, Groot listenin' to advice? Come tell me when you get that to work," Rocket murmurs, closing his eyes. The pressure of Groot's vines is soft enough to relax, but hard enough to soothe the itching; perfectly suited to him. Groot's done this countless times before, after all. Rocket breathes slow and deep, letting Groot take care of him just like old times, times when Groot was his bodyguard and not the other way around.

Peter and Gamora continue to speak until their voices fade to phantom whispers in the back of Rocket's mind, and Groot's caring touch works its way down to his bones. He pictures him and Groot together in the blackness of his closed eyes, back in their old ship, criminals on the run. Curled up in the same bunk with Groot's vines around his bare torso, acting as makeshift bandages around the scratch wounds he made to his implant scars.

He sees himself there, small and quiet and angry - so, so angry - but more appreciative than he could ever express to have someone who _cares_. Groot's chest is broad, thick, and solid under his hands, like the trunk of a tree that could never be cut or blown down. But it does. It bursts under Rocket's paws into a thousand shards of wood that scatter around their ship and spill out to float among the stars. It hurts so much to see that, because Rocket loves him. And now he loves every single individual piece of wood between his paws and out there in space. He loves them all equally and unconditionally, because they are all Groot. And because they are Groot, he knows he will love them until the day he dies.

The next thing Rocket does is suck in a shallow breath and open his eyes. His cheek is against the leather on Gamora's thigh, his hands curled to his chest and his bushy tail draped over his hip. Those things he thought he saw were all part of a dream.

It takes him a while to blink awake and peel his face from Gamora, squinting around them. Peter is nowhere to be seen, and Groot is nestled in his hands, curled against his chest. The baby flora colossus is not asleep, just laying in his hands with droopy eyes, blinking slowly, like he's too comfortable to move but likes where he is too much to fall asleep and become unconscious to the feeling of it.

Gamora has an open book in her hands with symbols on the pages that Rocket doesn't know how to read, and she looks down when he shifts away from her leg. He furrows his brow at her, breathing heavy.

"You fell asleep while we were talking," she explains, glancing back to her book.

"Ya didn't wake me up?" Rocket grumbles, his voice rough from sleep. He's a little embarrassed and a little annoyed, but he needed that rest, for sure. There's a strong desire to just ignore the embarrassment and settle back down for another hour or two. Gamora's leg is not the most comfortable pillow, but it's not entirely unbearable. Groot seems happy enough.

"I could not wake you," Gamora says simply, focused on her book again. Peter must have brought it to her when she insisted that she stay so that him and Groot were not disturbed in their rest.

"Ugh..." He rubs his tongue around the inside of his mouth, knowing that whatever fur rested against Gamora is probably flattened by now. "So, Groot's comin' with us again, then?"

"We were going to ask you. Whatever you decide is what will happen. We are a team." Gamora looks down to him. "Are we not?"

Rocket hesitates, because, normally, almost everything in his body would be warning him to get out of this vulnerable situation, but, maybe it's the haze of sleep, or it's Groot's weight in the palms of his hands, or it's that his old scars aren't bothering him at all anymore. Either way, after a moment of shifting on the hard floor and getting comfortable, he ends up placing his head down on her thigh again, curling Groot back up to his chest.

Images from his dream are still firm in his mind, but he tries not to focus on the pain of loss. Instead, he holds Groot close, the one shard of wood that he nurtured most and gave all of his love to, and is now alive again to give back every ounce of that love in return.

"Thanks," he whispers, to both Groot and Gamora. If the others were here, he'd say it to them, too. "For... ya know."

Groot yawns cutely, presses his face to Rocket's chest, and murmurs back, "I am Groot."

'You don't have to say thank you,' he said.

Gamora just nods with the hint of a smile and flips a page in her book.


End file.
